


Dream Theater

by amanounmei



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-24 07:35:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/631992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amanounmei/pseuds/amanounmei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A planet where theater and drama rule everyday life. What will the team find?</p>
<p>(I literally dreamed this out, hence the title.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream Theater

“Oh, no, not again,” Rodney sighed with exasperation. “Not another backwater hamlet!”

Sheppard turned to him with a similar look in his eyes. “Look, watch what you're saying,” he begun, earning a stern gaze from the other. “Last time you said 'backwater hamlet', we met Lucius.”

“... Point,” McKay admitted rather reluctantly, staring across the valley.

They have seen many such places during their off-world expeditions, and yet the only way to describe this was 'beautiful' and 'serene'. Green plains and dense forests stretched out as far as the eye could see, cut only by a big river and huts, single or clutched into small groups. One could not call that exactly a settlement, as McKay has already remarked, but one could not deny that there were people there, as Sheppard replied. Especially since in the very heart of the valley stood an impressively massive castle of dark grey stone. From this distance no one from the team could see any details; they knew only that the structure was adorned with some sort of banners and flags. Bathed in the bright light of the rising sun and caressed by the cool morning breeze, the whole valley looked like some sort of peaceful painting or romance novel description.

They stood there, marvelling, for what seemed like an hour. Even the ever sceptical Rodney McKay would admit that the view, similar to so many, was truly mesmerizing. Finally Sheppard broke the silence with a diplomatic cough and said:

“So... let's go make friends.”

 

Despite all their expectations, no one had a problem with them going straight towards the castle. On the contrary, the few villagers – locals, McKay reminded, because technically there was no village there – insisted that they meet the ruling body to whom they referred to as 'the Writers'.

Up close the castle was indeed very impressive. The massive and crude stone structure contrasted with the flower decorations hung all around the small windows and main gateway, almost as if preparing for the wedding of a princess. The banners the team has spotted from afar nearly glimmered with crimson, which again contrasted with the proud raven placed upon it. Sheppard said he was never really fond of the Middle Ages, to what McKay instantly replied that it was more like the late 1500s, when Shakespeare lived. For some reason no one was willing to ask where does Rodney know _that_ from.

The team was brought before three elderly men in long, flowing robes that somehow contradicted the theory of this planet being an enlarged Globe theatre.

“We are the Writers,” one of them, seated in the middle, said calmly “and we welcome you to our lands, strangers.”

“We appreciate your hospitality,” Sheppard said out of pure politeness, since they only just arrived and had absolutely no chance of testing said hospitality. “I'm lieutenant-colonel John Sheppard, these are Teyla Emmagan, Ronon Dex, doctor Rodney McKay and doctor Carson Beckett.”

“You have come through the Ancestral Ring,” said the left Writer “so you are our guests. We will be honoured to have you join this evening's celebrations.”

“Celebrations?” Teyla asked slowly, her flat tone matching that of their hosts.

“There will be a feast,” replied the first Writer.

“I like the sound of that,” Rodney cut in with a broad smile, earning an elbow from Sheppard.

“During this feast our actors shall perform a traditional play,” the Writer continued, oblivious to McKay's words. “We invite you to stay and you shall not regret.”

John cast quick glances to the members of his team and met the ever hungry stare of Rodney, blank eyes of Ronon, we-should-stay-and-establish-a-friendship gaze of Teyla and the always nervous face of Carson.

“Well then,” he said “we cannot refuse.”

 

'Lavish' was hardly enough to describe the feast. In the main hall of the castle – a tall and broad hall – several huge tables were set, covered with crimson silk that matched the banners hanging from the ceiling. And upon those tables stood more meals and dishes than anyone could count, numbering possibly in hundreds. There were roast pigs – or at least something that looked like pigs and tasted pretty much like pork – ducklike poultry, numerous vegetables unlike anything seen on Earth. And of course alcohol – no feast could go on without it.

The Atlantis team was seated at a table opposite the Writers, being given 'appropriate attires' earlier that day. And so they sat there in shimmering and lavishly ornate purple robes, Teyla calm as always, John and Ronon completely neutral, Carson uneasy and Rodney both embarrassed and happy about all the food. None of the others said it out loud, but they could not help but wonder why is their astrophysicist friend not bothered by his unusual clothing. In any other circumstances, they would be unable to shut him up once he started yapping and bitching about it, and virtually everything else around him.

They knew something was really amiss when the first – possibly head – Writer turned to Rodney and eyed him slowly.

“There is doubt in your heart,” he said.

“I've heard that before,” Sheppard muttered, watching his friend return the stern gaze aimed at him.

“You hold no love for the arts and the words,” the Writer added, and to this McKay could only blink. “But you will learn. Watch and listen.”

Rodney nodded in their general direction, muttering something in the lines of “right”, when suddenly candle flames started dying all around the tables. The hall went dark, but not entirely – some light still made its way towards the Atlantis team, making their faces visible, but covered in romantic, but somehow sinister shades. Sheppard looked around at them, but saw concern and slight amusement matching his own. The local people, on the other hand, were all staring in the direction from which the light came.

It was an area of the hall specifically left alone to serve as the scene for the promised traditional play. The floor was covered with a beautiful, ornate rug, and it seemed to the colonel that it was almost sacred to the native people – they avoided it with the utmost care, as if stepping on it was blasphemy or dishonour. Around the rug stood the last burning candles, which to Sheppard could be only a somewhat primitive equivalent of reflectors. The entire hall, even the walls themselves, seemed to draw their breaths as one, every single sound dying instantly.

Soft steps came from the rug and a richly dressed woman came into the light. The play has begun.

 

It was, from the lack of a better term, classical. A young girl and a young boy were deeply in love, yet they could not be together. Their families would not let them, having promised the boy to the daughter of a baron, and the girl's father hated him. But eventually their mutual feeling prevailed and made their relatives see the truth and the pain they would endure if forced apart. With his dying breath, the girl's terminally ill father blesses the couple, and the boy leaves his house to be with his beloved. It was truly hard to find a more trivial and classical plot, and yet everyone in the hall cheered when all the actors stepped in front of them and bowed deeply, sealing the play's end.

Sheppard and his team of course joined the ovation. Despite the major lacks in plot, something in what they just saw kept them watching with pure interest, kept them... enchanted, mesmerized. The colonel looked around to see the faces of his team and met only genuine smiles and happiness.

Even on the face of McKay.

“That was very enjoyable,” Teyla commented, turning back to the robed Writers. They returned her warm smile and bowed.

“We thank you, warrior woman,” one of them said. He then turned to Rodney. “And what do you think, you with a doubting heart?”

The physicist paused. “Was good entertainment,” he admitted. 

“That's one hell of a compliment from him,” Sheppard said to their hosts. 

“But you still hold no love for these arts,” the Writer continued, his smile vanishing as he looked at Rodney. “We invite you to stay a few days more, doctor McKay. There will be a very special celebration.”

John raised an eyebrow and pointed a finger at the rug, over his shoulder. “Wasn't that one supposed to be special?”

Another Writer shook his head. “That was a traditional performance to welcome the new season. The next will be special, as we have written a new play and wish to show it to the anxious people.”

Sheppard got up from the table, nodding for his team to do the same. They of course also rose, but none of them spoke a word. A short while passed in silence as the Writers stared at them, their faces suddenly blank. It was amazing how fast these three elderly men could change their expressions, which seemed to match their swinging moods.

“We really appreciate your hospitality,” the colonel said, “but we should be going back now.”

“Actually,” McKay interrupted him slowly “I... I think I'd like to stay for that special play of theirs.”

The Writers beamed at the doctor, but Sheppard only raised both eyebrows. “Aren't you needed in Atlantis?” he hazarded, trying to poke the physicist where it hurts. He did not like the way McKay was acting. “You left your job under Zelenka.”

Rodney waved a dismissive hand. “It's nothing he can't handle,” he said, earning gazes of wide eyes from his companions.

“Rodney...” Teyla begun slowly.

“Look,” he stopped her before she could say anything more. “I just want to stay and see that blockbuster play, and then I'm coming back, okay?”

Sheppard sighed heavily through his nose, but knew better than to argue with The McKay. “Fine,” he said. “You stay here. We'll tell doctor Weir and if she disagrees, we're coming back for you.”

They had an agreement. But for some reason when the team left through the Star Gate, leaving Rodney behind, there was much tension between them.

 

“You have to be kidding me.”

John Sheppard shook his head. “I wish I was, Elizabeth.”

Weir let out a sigh, folding her hands in front of her like she tended to do in such situations. “He's not being himself...” she said out loud.

The colonel narrowed his eyes at her. “You're telling me.”

“And you're saying this... performance had this effect on him?”

“I think so,” Sheppard admitted as he occupied the chair in front of Weir. “Although it could have been in the food or even those freaky candles, but Keller checked us all and said we're clean.”

Elizabeth nodded. “I would ask Beckett to confirm the results, but he may be affected for all we know.”

“Then why didn't he stay?”

“Because he wasn't invited?” the woman gave a small shrug. “Or you all were more resistant to whatever caused this than Rodney.”

“Maybe,” John nodded his head. “Feels like Lucius all over again...”

“Don't remind me... But I want you to go there and bring Rodney back, by force if necessary,” Weir said calmly but firmly, earning another nod.

“But if we haven't reported back or at least sent a message in six hours, that means we've been affected,” Sheppard said and left.

 

The valley looked just as magnificent as it did the previous day, when they first came to this world. The team made its way downhill, with Sheppard up front and Dex closing the line. The way from the Gate to the stone castle would take them two hours, judging by the time they needed to cross the distance the first time, but none of them complained. Not even the physically weaker Carson Beckett that has again accompanied them on this mission, as his mind was occupied by very different thoughts.

“Poor bugger, that Rodney,” he said out loud. “First the bloody Wraith enzyme, then Lucius, and now this. 'E's had enough addictions, Ah say, Ah hate to put 'im through all that again...”

“I am sure doctor McKay will be all right,” Teyla reassured him, hoping to interrupt the flow of words. Everyone knew that Carson was a good and kind man, but once he started ranting over something he just could not stop. “He has pulled through many things most of us would probably not endure.”

“Aye, ye damn right 'e did,” Beckett admitted, but his ever concerned expression has not changed even a bit. “And Ah cannae help but fear we're walkin' towards our own doom. Colonel, if Rodney got affected-”

“Take it easy, Carson,” Sheppard cut in. “We all know the risk, and we volunteered. And we took you with us so that you can find a way to cure and/or prevent affection. You are a medical doctor. Okay?”

Beckett swallowed audibly. “Aye, colonel.”

“Something's changed,” Ronon observed, nodding his head in the general direction of the stone castle.

And indeed, he was right. The decorations they saw only yesterday have already begun to change. The crimson banners still hung, but in smaller numbers, and some of the remaining ones had been relocated. The flowers were all gone, replaced by tapestries with knightly tales woven onto them and garlands of green leaves. There still were people walking to and fro, bringing new decorations and handing them to those that hung them in place. And each and every single person bore a wide smile on their face.

When the Atlantis team finally arrived, they were greeted warmly, like old friends returning after a long absence. The crowd of people slowly pushed them further into the courtyard, despite their best efforts to stay near the gates. When asked about the Writers, they heard only that they are currently unavailable, busy with preparations for the new play's première. The mob quickly cut them off from their only visible exit, locking them inside the walls, unless they wanted to open fire.

“Sheppard?” a familiar voice called. “The hell are you guys doing back here so early?”

“Doctor McKay,” Teyla smiled with clear relief, the feeling mimicked by her comrades.

But when she turned around, any other words she wanted to say got stuck somewhere in her throat. It was indeed Rodney, but most definitely not the Rodney they knew. First of all, he still wore a robe, only that this one was blue – probably to match the colour of science assigned to him in Atlantis – and it did not shimmer; instead, it _gleamed._ It also seemed to have been woven with a golden thread that formed ornate patterns all around the fabric. And he even had a cloak.

This was _not_ McKay.

“The hell's happened to you?” Sheppard asked before he could bite his own tongue.

“Me?” Rodney looked down on himself. “Nothing, I'm fine. Was just helping with the preparations. You know, they realized what a genius I am and asked me for help. We might be able to add this and that to the scene, and of course speed the whole thing up--”

“Hold on,” the colonel interrupted him. “Speed the whole thing up?”

“Yeah,” said McKay. “In fact, we're almost done. Just the outer decorations and the hall and we can start.”

Sheppard raised an eyebrow. “How long till the play then?”

The physicist looked at the huge clock on one of the castle's higher towers. “Just under three hours.”

There was a moment of silence in which the robed man readjusted his outfit and the team just stared at him. Finally, John braced himself to say what they all knew that had to be said. “You're coming back with us.”

“What?” McKay gasped. “No, there's still so much that I have to do, and I can't miss this show, it's one of a kind, I promised I'll stay, and there's no way any of you can stop me from seeing it, eve if you had to shoot me!”

He immediately regretted those words as he looked at the stern and dead serious face of Ronon. The hulking man pushed himself to the front of the line and stood right in front of the shorter scientist, his special gun in hand. Rodney gulped audibly and took an involuntary step backwards, hearing the people around them mutter eagerly among themselves.

“Ronon,” Sheppard said calmly yet firmly “stand down.”

Reluctantly, the Satedan withdrew, but that did not help the sweat on the robed man's forehead. “Look,” Rodney tried “just stay and watch, okay? You'll see it's worth it. You'll see I'm right.”

Another moment of silence past along with exchanged glances. Sheppard gave a small, uncertain nod.

“Very well, Rodney,” said Teyla. “We will stay.”

 

The chambers they have been assigned seemed very cosy, with their own fireplace. The fire cracked cheerfully, sheltering them from the cold of the wind that howled inside the castle halls at least partially. There was a table with numerous chairs placed around it and candlesticks upon it. There were draperies, a soft rug and an ornate brass crest of a raven hung over the fire.

“Nice,” Sheppard said as they were showed to the chambers. Ronon approached a wall and leaned against it, staring at the servants that led them here blankly. One of the servants took a step backwards, just in case.

“We thank you,” Teyla bowed her head at them. “Your masters are most generous. But we would like to rest now.”

They bowed and immediately backed up, locking the door, more than glad to get away from Dex.

“So,” John looked at Carson, who was currently examining a candlestick holder. “What do you think?”

Beckett shrug his shoulders, putting the silver item back on the table. “T'be honest, colonel, Ah have no bloody idea. Rodney is most definitely not bein' himself, but Ah cannae tell ye why. If this was some sort o'perfume or pheromone, like with Lucius, we all would've been affected by now.”

“But we're not,” Ronon said simply, as was his trademark. 

“Not yet, nae,” the doctor admitted with a nod. “But everyone's brain chemistry is different, maybe we are more resistant than Rodney.”

“Or it is something different,” Teyla added.

Sheppard pulled his legs up and placed them on the table, crossing his ankles. “Question is, how do we cure him?”

Beckett let out a heavy sigh and occupied a chair opposite the colonel. He met a gaze from under a raised brow, a gaze that bore a mute question and knew he has to explain.

“Ah cannae tell ye without knowin' the cause,” Carson said carefully. “But Ah think Ah have an idea...”

 

The fact that this world had no electricity, nothing even close to it, worked to their advantage. The inner halls and corridors of the castle obviously had no windows that would open up to the outer world, leaving them at the mercy of torchlight. And no matter how many torches one hung on the walls, they still lost the battle with the shadow, providing just enough cover for someone to sneak through.

And someone of course was. Two shadows deeper than those around them slowly moved along the cold stone walls, from one passage to another, through the chequered pattern of light and dark. Once in a while one could see the flashes of human figures as they stepped into the dim light, should anyone be around. But the figures – whoever they were – paid careful attention to what was happening around them, capture being the last thing they could allow themselves.

After what seemed like eternity they finally arrived at a very specific door. They could have found the 'Actors' Chamber' written in golden letters quite comical should the situation be less awkward and serious. The two figures parked themselves round a corner from where they could peek at the door and waited.

The chamber creaked open and someone stepped out. The man managed to take a step before a bolt of bright blue light hit him and he fell flat onto the floor. Another one joined him as soon as he left the room to check what was going on.

Sheppard then ran forward, stuffing the Wraith stunner behind his belt.

“Ah really wish Ah didn't have t'do this,” Carson said as he followed and helped the colonel bind and gag the unconscious actors.

“You're not really hurting them,” John reassured him as he dragged the first man to a dark and distant corner. It has cobwebs – perfect. Meant no one visited this part.

Beckett did not reply, keeping watch as the other dragged the second actor away. Then they both entered the 'Actor's Room' and drew breaths.

This place had _everything_ , starting with simple linen clothes through richer attires and wigs all the way to armour and replica weapons. The variety of costumes themselves was astonishing – if they wanted to, they could dressed themselves as simple peasants, kings or even Aztec or Hindu gods. The entire, quite huge, chamber was covered with colourful, soft pillows and mirrors lined on the walls, completely contradicting the general image of this planet seen on the outside.

Also, on the small tables placed beneath mirrors, laid papers, or more accurately, pieces of parchment. Carson immediately walked over to one of the tables and picked up the writing, scanning it quickly.

“Scripts,” he said to John, who was busy studying a blonde wig that vaguely reminded him of a certain female soldier he knew. 

“Great, we'll know when to start,” Sheppard admitted and shuffled through clothes that were dumped on a pile of pillows. “And we better hurry, we have thirty minutes before the play starts.”

 

Rodney sat at the table with a ridiculously huge smile on his face. The stage was set in front of him, as well as the hundreds of other people that came to see the big event. The Writers stood and bowed, and one of them, seemingly the eldest, gave a long speech about beauty and the feeling that comes from the heart, but McKay was not listening. He kept staring at the stage, wishing only to see the show.

It was built from dark wood, similar to oak, and left bare, save for the several decorations that had to be there – an actual stone tower with a single cliché window, living trees and bushes that have been replanted onto the stage itself to make the best possible impression... only the sky and the few soft clouds upon it were murals carefully painted onto the castle wall behind the stage.

With several notes from the trumpets, the play has begun.

“Ah don' feel comfortable, colonel,” Carson whispered, eyeing himself one last time in a small mirror that hung nearby.

“It was your idea,” Sheppard whispered back, peeking through the narrow passage that led from the actors' room to the very stage, its exit disguised among trees. He eyed the crowd and quickly noticed the unbelievably blue and gleaming Rodney seated by a table in one of the front rows. “A VIP guest,” he muttered to himself.

“Aye, Ah know...” the doctor admitted with a sigh. “Ah just hope this works...”

They both paused, involuntarily drawing their breaths as a woman in old linen rags passed them and stepped forward, greeted by a huge ovation from the audience. The clapping hands muffled most of the other sounds, even those back stage. 

“One way to find out,” John said as he watched the woman's lips move. She uttered the first lines in this play.

The show has begun.

 

Rodney watched the events happening before him with utter fascination, absolutely mesmerized. Even his eyes seemed to have widened a bit, which did not happen with the Great McKay. But this time it has, and he could do nothing but swallow every word said, every single movement, and crave the next.

The two men that were currently on stage seemed somewhat... out of place, even to him, who was so blind to the world around him, so lost in the beauty of this art. But the oddness struck him. He could not put a hand on it...

... But the Writers could.

“What is the meaning of this?!” the eldest stood up from his seat, anger flashing in his eyes. The audience did not move, however; each and every viewer just kept staring at the stage, awaiting to see what happens next, craving the next move, the next verse.

The woman on the stage remained a bit more mobile. She cast nervous, almost terrified glances at the disguised men that accompanied her, realizing that something was terribly, terribly, wrong. The actors then looked at one another and stood still, turning to the furious Writers. No one said a word, the masters awaiting an answer to their question, and the others not knowing what to say. Both impostors were expecting this, but for some reason this still was not considered part of their plan. And there of course was no plan B.

Which, thankfully, came on its own.

Rodney also stood up, eyeing the man dressed in clothes of a noble. “... Carson?”

Beckett cleared his throat. “O'course, mah friend, who else could Ah be?” he said theatrically, addressing McKay directly and instantly gaining attention of everyone gathered in the huge chamber. The walls themselves seemed to draw breath, taken aback by the sudden and unexpected turn of events.

“Silence, impostor!” the head Writer yelled, but Carson pretended not to hear.

Sheppard decided that all this will go to hell anyway and he might as well risk it. Improvising on the spot, he quickly added: “We have come to set you free.” A lousy rhyme, yet it seemed to work on McKay just fine as he narrowed his eyes and kept listening. “Far behind you there lies the gold, and a paradise place where you belong.”

Rodney shook his head. “Wait, what are you.... I know you......”

Beckett took a step forward, smiling down at his robed friend as warmly and caringly as only he could. “Cease this at once!” the Writer bellowed, his deep voice echoing in the great hall, but the doctor did not seem to be listening.

“O'course ye know, and yer heart knows,” he said solemnly, his expression unchanged. McKay blinked, turning to Sheppard briefly and earning a reassuring nod. “Remember yer duties and all yer vows. Remember yer soul and the life so dear, reach back out fer it for it is so near.” With this he extended a hand towards the other.

The audience were all holding their breaths as Rodney eyed the hand.

“Come back with me and let's see the new day, mah dearest of all friends, mah Meredith McKay.”

The physicist shook his head fiercely, the words echoing in his head. Carson kept smiling down at him, but only up to the point when he felt a hand eagerly patting his shoulder. He then turned to see it was Sheppard, very keen on gaining his attention, and pointing at the man that sat next to Rodney. The head Writer was practically steaming mad now, his teeth bared and eyes narrowed, fixed upon the disguised actors.

“Seize them!” he bellowed. “Seize the blasphemers at once!”

Several armed men nearly sprang forward from where they stood, lined by the walls, and rushed towards the stage. Sheppard jumped off the wooden platform and grabbed McKay's wrist.

“Time to go,” he said, waving at Carson to follow and pushed his way through the bewildered and somewhat fascinated crowd. They probably have few occasions to see such scenes live. Most of them even moved aside to make way for the escaping men, and of course for the guards that followed. 

“The hell's going on?!” Rodney almost growled as they stormed out of the chamber and down a corridor that – hopefully – would lead them out of the castle.

“You were brainwashed,” the colonel explained shortly, tightening his grip on McKay's wrist.

“Ow!” the scientist hissed. “Sheppard!”

“'E's himself,” Carson panted.

“Of course I am!” Rodney reinforced the statement, making John let go. He rubbed his wrist with his other hand, but did not stop. The clash of armour behind them was a good enough reason to run for it. 

Beckett suddenly grabbed Sheppard's shoulder and pulled him into a side corridor which opened up onto the courtyard.

“And just how are you planning on escaping?!” Rodney gasped out, his face already completely red from physical exhaustion. “The gate is two hours from here, and it's getting dark, and--”

“Shut up and keep running!” the colonel scolded him and shoved him a few steps forward. They were already outdoors and about to leave the courtyard which, for the time of the première, was left unguarded and the gates lifted for anyone willing to come and join the celebrations. Apparently attacks from anyone other than the Wraith happened really seldom on this planet.

“I'm running, I'm running!”

Beckett cast a nervous glance over his shoulder and saw well over ten armed soldiers in pursuit, and – what was worse – closing in on them. Which seemed rather ridiculous, considering the weight of their steel armour. The weapons themselves – swords and a halberd, he noted – must have weighted more than a horse... “Now would be a good time, colonel!” he said desperately with his ever strained voice.

“Time for what?” Rodney blinked at him.

John raised a hand to his ear. “Teyla, this is Sheppard, we're coming in hot!”

“Coming _where_?!” McKay demanded.

“Just _keep running_!!”

The physicist glared at him, but any reply he was looking for was overwhelmed by the pain in his legs and general lack of oxygen. Some rescue mission this was... one with a plan that was bound to fail, they would never make it to the gate, and there was no sign of Teyla ei-

“... Why didn't you just tell me?!” he scowled when he saw the Athosian woman waving at them from up a hill. Behind her he saw the familiar green outline of a puddle jumper appear when the cloak was disengaged, most likely by Ronon who remained inside.

“I like surprises,” Sheppard said as he increased pace and went ahead of the two doctors. Once the pair got inside, Rodney occupied the co-pilot's seat right next to John, taking a deep breath he wished for ever since they left the castle.

“Cloak engaged,” the colonel said and pulled the jumper up the moment the engines started. “Dial us out.”

McKay quickly pressed the six symbol sequence on the crystal pads of the jumper's DHD, barely even looking upon it. It was almost automatic by now, his hands moving pretty much on their own as they entered the address that would take them home.

A moment of silence passed when he was done. “Look,” he finally said “thanks for coming for me, I don't know what happened to me back there, if it wasn't for you-”

“It is okay, Rodney,” Teyla said with a comforting smile. “We never leave a friend behind.”

“What _was_ all that about anyway?” the physicist asked, staring ahead of him to see where the gate was.

“We believe the plays themselves cause some weird reactions in the cortex,” Beckett replied calmly, eyeing the profile of his friend's face. “Ye were the sceptical one, Rodney, so ye were influenced stronger than any of us.”

McKay finally turned to him, his face rather blank. “Thank you, Doctor Voodoo. Look, don't misunderstand me, I'm really grateful that you came back, but...”

“But what?”

“... Meredith?”


End file.
